Nothing
by weekendoffender
Summary: What's left once you've lost faith?


**Title:** Nothing  
**Author:** xPilot  
**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction from my little mind. I don't own any rights to anything HIM related, nor do I own or have anything to do with Ville Valo, Mikko 'Mige' Paananen or the band HIM.  
**Notes:** This is so old it's not funny. It's also completely emo (which is hard seeing as emo wasn't around when I wrote this) & the ending is a sappy letdown. Sorry, I might fix it one day. Oh & it's unbeta'd, just been run through the spell check.

Nothing... silence. Only the never-ending tick of the clock to break the maddening stillness. A full moon illuminating a room through a shattered windowpane, casting grey shadows across the floor. Looking closely can you just make out the objects strewn across dark carpet. Over turned tables, splintered chairs and smashed bottles, torn paper, a television and clothes, broken glass from windows... and a man. The moonlight slowly tapers over a thin and frail body. Shivering as a gust of wind drifts past the exposed chest, its owner presses himself further into the corner he has curled up against.

A twist of a doorknob and a frustrated groan comes from somewhere unknown to the shaking body. A bang on the door and a muffled yell flows from the same place but again does not register. The mind too tired to process anything but pain. His head lifts from his knees as the moon exposes his hollow, pale face. Cherry red lips, once soft and moist, now cracked and bleeding. Eyes so sunken they cannot be seen in the soft light. He lifts a long skeletal finger to his face and drags it down a cut along his cheekbone, smiling when blood is seen dripping down his finger. He thought about all the reasons he was here, why it ended up like this. Since he can remember he had little or no friends. Always sat alone in the playground, no one to talk to about his weekend during classes, always 'picked last for the team' as they say. But then he met him… his best friend, protector, confidant & lover. The one person that he thought would never hurt him. But he did. They always do, don't they?

More banging and mumbled cries from somewhere unknown. "Behind the door, maybe?" he thought, glancing at the origin of the source. But still he said nothing back, did nothing to indicate he was listening, even there. Nothing.

Seconds, minutes, maybe hours passed as the sickly pale man sat silent and unmoving. Many more times had the banging from behind the door returned. Every time longer than the last and with a louder cry or scream often following, although his mind was still incapable of translating the words called out. Rain had started coming through the broken window, coating his skin slick with water and the freezing wind stifling his breath. Although at the moment he wished he were dead, he would rather not pass from an asthma attack. After grinning from this thought the lithe man slowly made his way onto his knees in an attempt to crawl to the other side of the room, manoeuvring his way past such obstacles as broken chairs, all the while tearing his knees apart from the broken glass covering the floor. But at this point in time he didn't care. The pain barely registered in his mind and what did just added to the current frenzy swirling around in his head.

Unable to go any further, the pole like man - tall and thin - gave up, collapsing on his side and lighting a cigarette he found in a bag laying near his head. He went through everything that had happened that day. Getting a call from his lover to come and see him at his motel room. Running late because of people wanting to talk to him. Arriving at the motel two hours later. Walking in the room to find his best friend in bed with another man. Then back at his room breaking down. Screaming, yelling, crying. Throwing chairs, the TV, his clothes and notes. Anything he could get his hands on. Then collapsing in the corner. He looked at the clock on the wall, the only thing he didn't break or through out the window, struggling to make out the time. 1:02am. Had it been that long? 5 hours in this room by himself. But what is 5 hours compared to a lifetime? Was he condemned to live a life of sorrow and loneliness? He wondered why God had felt he needed to be punished. Did he even believe in God anymore? No, it was God who didn't believe in him. He lost faith long ago.

He put out the cigarette with slender fingers, watching with avid interest the last few wisps of smoke dance and die. Out of the corner of his eye the man notices a rather larger piece of glass as it shimmers under the moons rays. He stretches his hands out as far as he can reach and pulls the cool liquid towards him with his fingertips. Liquid? Yes glass is actually a liquid. Again he smiled, thinking about a fact that had always amazed him. Running his thumb along the sharp edge of the glass he thought about his music and how he sang of the fact that he was in love with death. But was he really? He had no clue. Just like God, he had lost faith in his music over the last 5 hours. If he had lost faith in his music what else did he have left? He had told everyone who asked that music was his life, what he lived and hopefully would be able to die for. Raising the glass shard to his left wrist, the now weeping man thought he had lived for his music and now it was time to die for it. Without even a thought to his actions, he presses down on his cold killer and in one quick movement slices skin and flesh, letting out nothing but a small whimper.

A small bang on the door that the now bleeding man doesn't hear, but the person on the other side of the door had stopped and listened. What was that? A sob? A cry of pain? The man outside the door has had enough. He gathers all his strength and, like in the movies he's seen, kicks the locked door as hard as he can causing it to fly open. The large tanned man looks frantically around the near pitch black room, noticing the flash of pale white skin in the corner and lets out a cry, rushing to the side of his fallen lover.

Cradling his dying lover in his arms, the large, now sobbing man pushes back blood soaked hair and begins shaking.

"I'm so sorry! I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…"

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just... I don't know why."

"Yes… yes you do... you lost faith... in us"

"Don't leave me! Please, don't leave me! I love you!"

"I... loved you... too"

"I still love you! I swear I just messed up! I'll can an ambulance, you'll be fine!"

"Goodbye"

"No!"

"I'm... sorry... Goodbye"

"NO!"

"Good... bye... Midge"

"Goodbye Ville"


End file.
